


caught in tide of blossom

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Worship, Challenge: Fic a Day in May, Established Relationship, F/M, Love Confessions, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks down, reaching out to take his hand in her own. “These have given me so much.” Varric feels his eyes widen with a silent realization. “I wonder what more they could do.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	caught in tide of blossom

**Author's Note:**

> finally did this. features my precious qunari, ladan adaar, and sex tips from the iron bull (briefly mentioned). all the bases covered, then.

Varric finds her in the forge, sitting in the chair he bought her, legs tucked up as she reads. He watches for a moment, and he can tell she knows he’s there – her posture shifts, aware and a little more open. But her eyes don’t leave the page, and he’s content to observe, until she closes the book and looks up.

“You’re back,” she says.

“I am.”

She extends an arm, fingers outstretched, and he takes it, sinking to the floor in front of her. She strokes his hair, and he rests his head against her legs. “Was it hard?”

A beat, silence, a breath. “It wasn’t easy.”

“It rarely is.” Her hand stills.

“Cassandra—“ He looks up, and she’s watching him, eyes too wide with a care he is still growing used to.

She pulls him up, trading their places so she can undress herself and straddle his waist. She takes him, naked above him while he is still clothed, until he comes with a muffled groan against her chest and pleading, quiet exhale.

He doesn’t know what they are, yet, but he knows he is desperate for this, in the spaces and seconds and interludes where they are apart, now that he has some part of her.

 

* * *

 

“Varric?”

_The barman turns to the woman in the middle of the fray, and has the good sense to laugh. “A pint, m’lady?” he asks, and she accepts wordlessly, tossing her coin onto the bartop. Marcus sits on the floor, still in awe, still wonderstruck and a little in love. She has—_

“Varric!”

“Shit.” He looks up, and Ladan is staring at him, bent so low her horns nearly touch his face. “How long have you been standing here?”

“Long enough that I’m worried.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You alright?”

“Oh, you know me.”

“I do. Which means that’s bullshit for ‘no, please leave me alone.’” Varric neither agrees nor disagrees, and instead leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. The Inquisitor sighs. “I’m going to be in the Emerald Graves at the end of the week. Reports are telling me about a pretty big stash of red lyrium. Did you want the honors?”

Varric frowns. Ordinarily, he’d agree immediately. A chance to point, aim, shoot, and at that shit? He should be all for it.

But there’s a tired, aching feeling that’s settled into his bones, and the idea of another trip, riding on that damn pony – it makes his skin crawl.

“I’ll take a pass,” he says. “But you’ll be sure to bust it up good for me, won’t you?”

Ladan grins. “Have I let you down yet?”

“No, I suppose you haven’t.”

“Good to know.” She takes a step back. “Well when you’re feeling up to snuff again, you just tell me.” Varric nods and watches her leave. He needs to stop being so obvious. When did he become so obvious?

_When you became some big damn hero, you idiot._

The nagging, pitiful little voice in his head sounds an awful lot like Bartrand this morning. He sets his writing aside and figures the best way to expunge _that_ particular feeling is with whiskey, and plenty of it. He gives a few nods as he passes, making his way down the stairs and to the tavern. He spots her from afar. The sight of her is enough to give him pause, and he abandons his current quest in favor of watching, just for a few minutes.

It’s like the night before, when she knew he was looking, and kept doing what she wanted.

“What are you doing, Varric?”

She surprises him, speaking even as she turns and hacks at another dummy. He weighs his dialogue options.

_I’m enamored with everything your body can do and I want to watch you for days._

_I’m going to go get completely plastered and you’ll have to scrape me off the tavern floor._

_If you figure out what I’m supposed to be doing, please tell me, because I’m drowning._

“I came to see you.”

This, finally, makes her pause, and she stakes her sword in the ground and goes to drink water from a flask before smiling at him. Varric suppresses a shudder – he’s going to get used to it, eventually. But for now, he’s content to let it completely disarm him.

“That is good, I think. I was planning to visit you soon as well. I wanted…to make plans. With you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” She slips off her gloves and steps closer. “Are you free this evening?”

Shit, but he wants to make a joke. He wants to say something witty, something clever, something that will make her laugh, maybe. But all he can manage is a quick nod – his throat’s gone paper dry and he’s pretty sure if he opens his mouth the first words out will be _Maker, please_.

“I will come by, then.” She bends down just enough to press her lips to his cheek. “I’m glad you’re back.” She puts her gloves back on and goes back to pull her sword from the ground. Varric watches for just a bit longer, and turns to go into the tavern.

“So it is true, then?” Varric cranes his neck and sees Dorian following close, his teeth bared. “You and Cassandra.”

“Yes.”

“Well you know I’m not _keen_ on saying I told you so, but I did—”

“We’re not…together. It’s…it’s not like that.”

“Oh?” Dorian buys two drinks and hands one to Varric. “Tell me more, then, about this arrangement.”

“It’s not an arrangement.” He punctuates the statement with a drink, and Dorian is clever enough to end his line of questioning.

“Well, perhaps when it develops further.”

“Perhaps,” Varric says, and decides to stay sober.

 

* * *

 

He isn’t sure what to prepare, or when she’s even planning on coming. He just knows that after dinner she gives him a small nod, and he heads back to his room. He lights a fire before setting out some glasses and a bottle of honeyed wine. There’s a strange, anxious feeling in his stomach, one that only seems to snap higher when he hears her knock.

He puts on a face. “Seeker.”

Cassandra steps into the room and bends down to kiss him again, opposite the spot from earlier. Both his cheeks now burn. She spies the little table set with glasses and turns to him, smiling. “You are sweet to think of such a thing,” she says, and fills the glasses. Her tone is gentle, careful in the waning hours of the day. Varric has heard it spike though, even since they began this affair. In battle, the way she calls his name, the way she gives orders, or acknowledges the Inquisitor. She is, after all, still Cassandra. But in these moments, she is soft. He likes to think she makes him that way, too.

“I had something in mind, if you’d be willing to oblige.”

“You, with a plan? Maker forbid.”

“Ass.” She’s dressed down for the evening, her usual armor gone. He’s seen her this way before, though it took some time. The first night they made love, they did so in complete darkness. “I wondered…well. It seems strange, now. Only…you speak of me so beautifully, when we are together.” She settles her gaze on him. “You say things about me that I have never thought to say of myself before.” Cassandra sits on the edge of his bed, gestures for him to sit in the chair across from her. “Do you remember?”

“I say a lot of things to you,” he says, smiling.

She mirrors him, laughs, even. “Yes, you do. But there are… _particular_ things that you say and they always intrigue me.” Her voice is lower, now. Teasing almost. “You admire me, Varric. Me, as a person, but also…also my body.”

“It’s worth admiring.”

“It is also not something many people have taken note of. I have had only one lover, but you know this. Our relationship was at its height in my youth, but I have only grown stronger. I’ve only become more adept at…taking so much, as you like to say.” Her cheeks flush, and Varric is hit with a memory – a very _good_ memory, one of her body, cresting against the shore of them both, her voice breaking as he moved harder, as her wrists pulled against the silk belt they had been toying with for so long, finally mustering the courage to use. He had come so hard it blinded him, the sight of her that way, the _sound_ of her. He is desperate to know what she wants, desperate to give it to her, even without knowing.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

Cassandra nods. “I want…I want to know how _much_ I can truly take. I want to know how far we can both be pushed.” She breathes, and it trembles in them both. “I want so much of you, Varric. I want to know just how much you are willing to give me.”

“I don’t…understand.”

She looks down, reaching out to take his hand in her own. “These have given me so much.” Varric feels his eyes widen with a silent realization. “I wonder what more they could do.”

 

* * *

 

They do not do _that_ particular thing right then. Of course they make love, _exquisite_ love, Cassandra is nothing but accommodating in that regard, and Varric is more than satisfactory – he only needs to listen to her voice as she begs him for more to know he’s doing it _right._

But this is…big. In a certain way. It is far more intimate than anything they have ever done before, and Varric is more than nervous. They’ve planned for the evening, because he doubts it could be very spontaneous, doubts his performance level would be up to snuff if he had simply to _do it_ without readying himself for what it might entail, what it might really _require._ He does his research, which makes it far less romantic than they’d planned and more…technical.

(Varric wonders when their encounters became so damned intimate in the first place. Hadn’t their intent been to keep things strictly professional? Hadn’t they planned on that?)

(And wasn’t it always that way – everything you planned becoming a thing of the past, the now becoming your true reality. The reality being that his feelings for her had grown, that he felt them blooming out from her carefully, cautiously, but blooming all the same?)

The research makes him sweat, makes him anxious. She is away for a few days, so he has only himself for company.

He makes for a poor companion.

Cassandra returns and immediately finds him. Tonight, after she bathes, she will come to him. It must be tonight, she insists. They cannot delay it any longer.

“I have thought of nothing but how you might feel,” she murmurs. “I do not know when I become so enamored with thoughts of you, but they softened the travel.” She cups his cheek. “You are still prepared, yes?” Varric nods, because he can’t trust _words._ Odd time to go dry. “Then tonight.” She kisses him. “I will be ready.”

Varric finally exhales when she goes, and decides a bath for himself couldn’t hurt either. He cleans himself up, straightens his quarters, and tries to write, failing miserably. Maybe after tonight he’ll have some new material, if Cassandra will let him. Perhaps if he promises it’s for _Swords and Shields_ , but…he thinks the novelty of her adoration for the books, coupled with their already lived sexual experience is wearing the whole thing down. A new series, though… _that_ might intrigue her.

He manages to get partway through a silly idea – too biographical for her to approve of, but more self-indulgent than anything else. Eventually she arrives, and Varric lets her in, bolting the door behind her.

“Do you expect someone to walk in on us?”

He chuckles. “Given the, ah, sensitivity of the matter at hand—” She snorts. “I knew word play wasn’t above you.”

“How could it be?” she asks, and loosens the ties of her breeches. “I am an avid fan of your own work. I believe _most_ of the _Tale_ is word play, is it not?”

“Hawke liked it.”

She smiles. “Of course.” Her breeches fall, and when she turns to climb onto his bed, Varric gets an excellent view before she settles against his pillows, one leg bent and the other stretched out, all beautiful muscle and gold skin for him to take in. “I brought something.” She gestures to the desk, where she’s laid down a small, drawstring pouch. “I…well, perhaps I shouldn’t tell.”

Varric tugs it open and draws out a vial of oil. He pulls off the little cork and smells it. “Lavender?”

Cassandra flushes. “I…didn’t know who else to go to. Bull was traveling with us—”

“You told him what we were planning?”

She sighs. “It was all very technical. He didn’t laugh once, you know.”

Varric shakes his head. “That’s not too surprising, really.”

He brings it to the little table by his bed and sets it upright. Cassandra’s hand closes over his wrist. “It is to help. With…”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Cassandra draws him in, and they kiss, slow and warm, all the time in the world between them. It goes on for a while, until Varric can feel the soft insistence of his cock pressing against his breeches. He undresses, going back to settle between her legs and test her wetness with his thumb.

“Might not need it.”

“Not now,” she says, reaching for his hand. “But…later.”

“I’ll go slow.”

“Just a bit, for now. And you will make love to me, yes? For some of it?”

“Anything you want.”

She nods. “I want you…you inside me. So much of you, Varric, you understand don’t you?”

“I do.” He pushes her tunic up over her belly, pressing a kiss there. “I understand completely, sweetheart.”

Cassandra sighs, relaxing again. “Alright. Then I am ready.”

 

* * *

 

For a while he opens her with his fingers – one at first, slowly exploring, teasing her open. She makes soft noises, and Varric kisses her thighs, her hip, takes her fingers and sucks on the digits, one by one. His other hand occasionally tweaks a nipple under her shirt, which she leaves on tonight. It is loose, ill-fitting really. Varric realizes it is a plainer version of his own, swiped from his chest.

He keeps quiet about it. He doubts she even remembered.

She suddenly murmurs, _more_ , and Varric presses in with two fingers, three when she repeats herself. Eventually she is panting, loud and wanton as he teases her clit with his tongue every so often, and Varric presses against her, slides a forth finger alongside the others and goes slow. She comes, his thumb putting pressure on her clit, fingers sliding inside her in shallow strokes. Her voice breaks, and Varric watches her face contort with pleasure before relaxing into the aftershocks.

“ _Varric._ ”

“You’re so beautiful when you let go like that,” he murmurs. “I could watch you every day.”

“I would not object,” she says, breathless and laughing. How rare it is. “You are particularly skilled.”

“The lady _does_ know how to pay a compliment.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Enough of the teasing.” She pulls him toward her. “I want you inside me.”

He grins. “But of course.”

It takes absolutely nothing for his cock to fill her, and he does, completely. Bottoming out on the first stroke drags a loud moan from her chest, and her back arches to accommodate him, her body loosening at his touch, fingers gripping the sheets under them. He is desperate, picking up the pace right from the start, eliciting a hard _yes, yes, yes_ each time. Their bodies rock together and in time, and Varric spreads his hands on the bed, all his effort going into these strokes, these thrusts, _this moment._ He has to remind himself not to use everything up, not to push her too far.

And she must remember. She stops him, and Varric pulls out, letting her finish him with her hand. Come hits her stomach and shirt, but she pays it no mind. It isn’t hers, after all, and he teases her over it.

“I forgot that it wasn’t mine,” she admits. “I did wonder why it was a poor fit.”

“I believe you,” he mutters, closing his eyes and catching his breath. “Shit, Seeker.”

They rest for a while, drinking water from wine goblets and chewing on nuts Varric stole earlier from the hall. Cassandra expertly twists an apple in two perfect halves. Varric feeds her.

It is…more romantic than he’d imagined the night going.

But it’s okay. It’s fine. It’s…natural, now.

She sets her glass to the side and says quietly, “I am ready, now.”

Varric nods. “So am I.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiles, kisses her rough and murmurs, “Very sure.”

Cassandra worries her bottom lip. “Alright.”

Varric nods, settling between her legs and kissing her knee. “Just relax,” he says, and she sighs, sinking further into the pillows. Varric teases her with two fingers, but she is loose and pliant around him – it takes only a few moments to add the third, but he stays there for a while. He’ll need to open her up carefully, get her ready for all of him, and that’s going to take patience and stamina. He’s got both.

Cassandra doesn’t push. She simply breathes, and listens to him. Varric has a litany of things to say to her, _about_ her. It is true – he admires her body often when they’re together. This is no exception. What they are about to do requires so much physicality, he wonders what she will look like, once she’s taken it. Because she can, and he tells her so.

“I can’t wait to see you, you know. Can’t wait to see what you look like.” He kisses her hip. “So much of me, right there inside you.”

“S-say it,” she manages. “Say it out loud.”

“My hand,” he murmurs. “My fingers. My _fist._ ”

Cassandra groans. “ _Varric._ ”

“I’ll make sure you get it, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

She nods, and Varric tests his forth finger inside her. She is more relaxed, now, and it happens easily, though there is still resistance. He removes his hand and takes the oil, coating it liberally and going back to the task. Easier, he notes, and the scent is relaxing. The tension in her thighs uncoils and Varric feels less pushing back at his knuckles. Her body is stretching for him, taking him, just as he thought it would.

Cassandra said she wants this. And she hadn’t been lying to him.

Time passes. Varric goes slowly. They have been at this for almost an hour, he suspects. Slowly, he moves, tests what she can take. The first moment that his knuckles slide further in, they both freeze. There is a certain point, he expects, that you cannot come back from. This seems to be the one. Cassandra nods, and Varric draws back, tests her again. It is the same. A few slow thrusts and she can take more. His knuckles are the widest part of his hand, and he tucks his thumb in against his palm, watching her cunt as she takes him. Half of his hand is inside her, and she –

“ _My body opens, filled and blessed._ ”

Varric smiles. “My spirit there. Not merely housed in flesh–”

“But brought to light.” She looks at him. She nods.

Carefully, he allows the rest of his hand to disappear inside her.

She makes…a _noise._ It is hollow, but full. Pained but pleased. Varric feels the pressure of her body around his hand, and gently curls his fingers in, stroking inside her, curving his hand into a fist. They are joined together at this intimate place, by an intimate shape, by an intimate agreement – that they would do this together, push themselves here, and Varric –

“Look at you,” he manages. “ _Fuck._ ” Not as eloquent as he’d planned to be, but there is nothing else he can say. “Cassandra—”

“Just…oh _Varric._ ”

“It’s…”

“It’s so _much_ ,” she breathes. “You are so much, you are so _good._ ” She peers down to see – her legs are drawn back now, knees bent to give him access, and she can clearly see where his arm rests, can feel it each time he thrusts inside her.

“I knew you could do this,” he says. “I knew you could take this. You’re so amazing, so beautiful. You are always perfect, you know that don’t you?”

“You…oh my love, _you_ —” She cries out, and she sobs. “So much, Varric.”

“Too much?”

“N-no.” She shakes her head, but Varric sees tears.

“Am I hurting you.”

“ _No._ ” She opens looks at him. “You could never.”

“Cassandra…”

“It is simply…oh, there is nothing simple about it. There is just so much, there is—” She cries out again, clenching around him. “A bit faster, just…just a bit.” Varric nods and agrees, and she cries out more, louder now, pleading and begging for him. He touches her clit with his free hand –

She screams.

Not…a scream, though. Nothing terrifying, nothing painful –

It is bliss. It is some kind of perfect agony, or so she will explain to him later. As though she wanted no  more of it, but could not bear to part with what he was giving her.

Eventually, though…

Eventually they must.

Varric pulls slowly out of her. He touches her, puts his tongue against her, and she comes.

Varric stares, watches as she holds herself taut, and then –

She collapses against his pillows, and she cries.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra finally manages to convince him that he hasn’t hurt her.

“You…could not understand the feeling, my love,” and _oh_ he is going to get used to that too quickly. She watches him clean his hands, bring a warm cloth to the bed to wash her with. She allows him to finally take off her tunic, and she curls against him, naked and sleepy and content, nose brushing his. “But you were there.”

“You felt amazing.”

“Yes,” she says, laughing. “You mentioned this.”

“Would you want to do it again?”

Cassandra thinks on it, then shakes her head. “Not for a long while.”

“I think that’s fair.”

She nods. “I would first…like to sort out this. What we did tonight…we can never come back from it. But I suppose I wanted it that way.”

Varric nods, reaching out to card his fingers through her hair. Her braid had long sense fallen out and come undone. Its remnants lay in damp curls on her shoulder, a perfect mirror of them both. Varric drags a blanket over them and kisses her forehead.

“Get some rest. I don’t care about damn _toned_ and perfect you are. You’re going to feel this in the morning.”

Cassandra smiles. “Good. I want to.”

“Shit, woman.”

She sits up weakly on one elbow. Her exhaustion is obvious, but she will be the last one to surrender to it. “I am proud of us both, and I am happy we are here, now. That we’ve done so much to trust one another.” She tips her head and kisses him. “I trust you, Varric Tethras.” A laugh. “Did you ever think you would hear me say that?”

“Particularly not in this…specific context.”

“Well. I do. I trust you with everything I have.”

“I trust you,” he says, without thinking. It had not occurred to them that grand admissions of any sort would come after what they’d just done. But here they are. And here he is, coughing up his heart for her to have and hold and see. “With everything I have.”

“You have a great deal,” she muses.

“And it’s yours.” He takes her hand and raises it to his lips. “I may even love you.”

She snorts. “ _May._ I believe you certainly do. Don’t try to hide it, dwarf.”

He laughs and leans back. “Oh? And will I be the only one to confess, Lady Pentaghast?”

Cassandra shakes her head. “Of course not.” She curls herself against him, closing her eyes and taking a few slow breaths. “I love you. I have. I would not have let you touch me the way you did unless that was truly where my heart belonged.”

Varric kisses the top of her head. “Dorian’s going to be insufferable.”

“Let him,” she murmurs. “I need nothing else but this, my love.” They are silent for a while. Varric suspects she’s gone to sleep. He’ll figure out a way to tell her exactly how he feels come morning. But for now, he’s content to hold her, to rest and put out some of the candles and watch the fire die down.

Then, in the dark and the quiet, he hears her, so clearly and so softly –

“I need nothing else but _you_.”

Varric smiles.

He knows exactly how she feels.


End file.
